


two truths and a lie

by CallicoKitten



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, TRoS Spoilers, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:34:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22151113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallicoKitten/pseuds/CallicoKitten
Summary: If there is one thing life has taught Armitage Hux, it is how to survive.-obligatory Hux lives au
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Comments: 35
Kudos: 561





	two truths and a lie

**Author's Note:**

> there's probably a hundred of these by now but here's my take on the hux lives au. i've been handwavey with the timeline and only seen the film once so errors abound i'm sure. dj is involved because i guess dj is just involved with hux always in my hc now? also, let it be known that i have not seen a star war made before 2015 so i really don't know much about palpatine and his sith bros or how to characterise him or anything so he might be ooc.

In the aftermath of Crait, Hux takes stock of things.

This should be a day of celebration. The Resistance has been crushed. Those that escaped are few, friendless. Standing alone against the might of the First Order and yet –

The doors to his quarters are shut tight and locked, the crew is under orders to only disturb him if truly necessary. He has two broken ribs; a badly bruised ego and he hasn’t slept for at least three cycles. His hand keeps drifting to his comms device to summon Phasma before he remembers.

Phasma is gone.

Supreme Leader Snoke is gone.

Now there is only Kylo Ren and whatever ruin he brings.

He has announced his intensions to summon more forces from the Unknown Regions, to form a Supreme Council to help him lead. It will not do.

Something has to change.

-

Allegiant General Pryde arrives and Ren makes no attempt to hide the fact that he is transferring the balance of power to the man. Pryde who sneers at Hux, who has sneered at him since he was a child, dismissed him as Snoke did, as Ren did, as his father, as the old guard, as everyone has, everyday of Hux’s life. He is a joke. A puppet. A rabid dog to be let of the leash and called back to heel at his master’s whim.

And like any good dog, he bows his head, steps back as his master commands. He swallows down the bile, the hatred, the _vitriol_ he wants to spit as Ren divides up his forces, apportions the bulk to Pryde. He does not argue when he is tasked with overseeing pointless little exercises while Pryde wreaks havoc on Resistance bases. He does not complain when the Stormtrooper programme is taken from him and desertions triple in the first few weeks. He does not speak against Ren when he decides to leave them all to chase a ghost to the far ends of the galaxy.

No. He does not do any of these things because if there is one thing life has taught Armitage Hux, it is how to survive.

He knows when to bend, how to nod, how to smile, how to say: _yes, Supreme Leader; of course, Allegiant General_ with the exact right proportions of barely concealed jealousy, resignation and rage to ensure eyebrows aren’t raised. He knows how to play his part, how to keep his hands folded neatly behind his back as he does so. How to keep them out of sight of prying eyes and Pryde’s eyes are _prying._ He is watching Hux closely, desperate for some slip up that he can take to Ren, that he can use to gain full control of their forces. Hux would almost find it flattering if he did not know Pryde was only watching him because in his eyes Hux was the weakest link. Not a schemer. Not a threat. Just an unwanted child sitting at the adults table where he didn’t belong.

It has taken him months to get to this point. To realise _this_ , out of everything if his best shot at getting out of this alive except, maybe that’s not the goal anymore. Maybe the goal is just making sure no one else is making it out alive. Maybe the goal is ridding the galaxy of men like Ren, men like Pryde.

Whatever the goal is, the best way of getting there is the Resistance.

-

He starts small. Leaks the timing of a few raids, the specs of some of their smaller ships, the coordinates of some of their less important, less populated bases. Nothing of great strategic importance but just enough to show he’s willing.

He sends the data out through a slicer he’s done business with in the past, meets him in the cantina of a First Order-friendly world with a cap pulled down low over his hair. Ren, he knows, has no idea where he currently is and certainly wouldn’t give it a second thought were it not for Pryde. For Pryde, Hux has a carefully constructed alibi, still has more than a few officers willing to lie for him if necessary.

“This is rather d-d-daring for you, Red,” the Slicer says in lieu of a greeting. He hasn’t joined Hux at the bar. Sits instead at the table directly behind him, tilting himself backwards on his chair so that he’s almost horizontal. “D-do I d-dare ask about the sudd-den change of heart.”

“You can ask whatever you like. I won’t promise answers.”

The Slicer laughs. “I won’t be able to p-pass this on d-d-directly, you know. Th-The Resistance and I aren’t on the b-best of t-t-terms right now.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Hux mutters. He dumps a pile of credits by his untouched drink and moves to stand but pauses, his hand curled around the data-drive in his pocket. If he does this –

If he does this –

He remembers the first traitor’s death he ever witnessed. He was young. It was before the Unknown Regions, before they left Arkanis. An instructor at his father’s academy had been discovered passing intel to a member of the Rebellion. Nothing of importance at all but it was enough and Hux’s father had been itching for someone to make an example of for weeks. He remembers how the man did not cry or beg. How he raised his head proudly to stare down the barrel of his father’s blaster.

He remembers what they did to the body afterwards. The weight with which that young man’s name was said for years afterwards.

If he _does_ this.

“Tick-tock, Red,” the Slicer says. “I’ve got places t-to go, people to be.”

It’s the only way he wins.

He stands up, drops the data-drive into the Slicer’s lap as he passes by and does not look back.

Later, back in his quarters on the _Steadfast,_ he gets an encoded message telling him his data is on it’s way. Two cycles later, he stands on the bridge while Pryde snarls and snipes about a Resistance base they were due to attack being alerted, emptying out and moving on before they got there.

 _Good going, Red,_ the Slicer messages. _Let me know if you have anything else that needs to be passed on._

-

The Resistance are pleased with his information, keen for more so they assign him a handler. Provide him a secure line, a consistent point of contact. It makes it all feel horribly real. Makes his treason official.

The Slicer passes this on as they stand high above some nameless world the Order has determined to be a threat. “They were p-p-practically gagging for it.”

“Yes,” Hux mutters. “Strange, that. Almost as though they’re on the losing side of a galaxy-wide war.”

He holds the data drive the Slicer handed to him loosely. Turns it over and over in his hands.

In another life, he thinks, this is the part where he would come to his senses. Where he would take the information on this drive straight to his Supreme Leader, tell him with a proud smile that he has a secure link to the Resistance’s inner sanctum, that as long as they keep feeding them scraps they will be able to keep the bulk of their attention off the Order’s true movements.

Or perhaps he would simply cast that damned thing off into the flames of the town below and be done with it. Chalk it up to a momentary slip. A brief foray into madness.

“Red?” The Slicer prompts. His voice is too soft. It makes Hux shudder.

In moments like this he wishes Rae Sloane was still here. She would know what to do. Scold him, guide him. Turn him in to the Council as a traitor. She would know the correct choice to make, would have the strength to see it through.

He curls his fingers tighter around the drive, slips it into his pocket. The Slicer lets out a small huff of laughter. “I s-suppose that’s that, th-th-then. B-b-be seeing you, Red. You’re g-going to _love_ your handler, b-by th-the way.”

When he’s gone, Hux breathes out. Closes his eyes.

This is real. This is real.

This is what he has to do.

-

It’s a week before he makes contact. Takes a week for him to work out the most secure means of transmission. Text can be recorded, will be stored somehow, somewhere forever so he decides on voice, face-to-face. Secure video links are easy enough to establish. As a General, his communication channels are private as a rule, only available for scrutiny by Pryde and Ren but he has ways of hiding his records from even them. Has had those in place for some time. From there it’s easy enough to install a voice scrambler.

He sends a message first, an encoded time for his handler to be available. As he hits send, he worries that his code is too complex but reasons that if his handler cannot decipher it, perhaps he should not be sharing information with them freely.

As he goes about his business, he feels as if there are eyes on him everywhere, at all times. Pryde probably has spies everywhere, Ren would too if he gave a flying bantha about the Order, about what they’re trying to achieve. Hux has this carefully orchestrated so as not to raise any eyebrows; he will not end his shift on time, will have his customary three hours off, leaving with four hours to spare and returning to the bridge one hour early. It will give him half an hour to talk to his new handler, to determine their trustworthiness and pass on the new information he’s gathered if they pass, half an hour to shower and eat, two hours to sleep.

As he returns to his quarters, he swallows down two stims in quick succession. It has been a trying shift. Pryde is undermining him at every turn and he has the backing of most of the Council. Hux’s head pounds but he needs it to be clear.

He is half expecting his call to go unanswered but it’s picked up almost immediately. His stomach bottoms out, he feels like he’s falling, like the destroyer beneath him is coming apart and scattering amongst the stars. He’s so sure the voice on the other end of the line will be Ren, will be Pyrde but no. No. That would perhaps have been a kindness.

“Resistance Informant hotline, how may I direct your call?”

The voice is unmistakable. Poe Dameron. The Princesses’ heir apparent for no discernible reason. Almost automatically, Hux’s brain pulls up everything he knows about Dameron. His parents were part of the original Rebellion, started out as a New Republic pilot before dropping into the void and re-emerging in the Resistance. He’s brash, arrogant. Reckless.

He’s practically Hux’s worst nightmare.

“Kriff, I’m sorry. That was – that was not the way to make a good first impression. Sorry. I’m just a little nervous, okay? Which I know, what right do _I_ have to be nervous? But I am and I thought maybe a little joke would put you at ease because you’re – well, I’m sure you know and I’m sorry. And eternally grateful for everything you’ve already done. Oh, and good code, by the way! Almost had me stumped. I had to call in back up.”

Hux has to bite back his groan of frustration. Lets his head fall into his hands, massages his temples. Dameron is treating this as a game. As something exciting. Perhaps he truly too dense to understand the weight of this, the danger Hux is putting himself in and for what? For _this_? For _them_?

If he thinks on it too long he’ll back out, he knows and if he does – if he drops this then he’ll –

He’ll –

He swallows. “Look, I really don’t have time for this.”

“Fuck, shit, you’re right. You’re right. Stars, I didn’t even think. Right. First off, are you safe?”

The question has him thrown. He almost laughs. _Are you safe?_

Dameron must be mocking him or else, he’s as dense as Hux first feared. This time, he can’t bite back his annoyance, his impatience. “What the fuck do you think?”

Dameron exhales. “Look, I know you think that’s a stupid question but I get what you’re risking. I don’t even want to think about how the Order treats it’s traitors – I’m sure it’s horrifying so if you need an assist, or evac, we’ll do what we can on our end, I promise.”

“Can we just get on with this?” Hux snaps.

-

Afterwards, he can’t sleep. Not exactly a new problem but one he can’t simply put off with sleeping pills this time. He drank most of a bottle of wine to calm his nerves and despite widely held opinions, he’s not so stupid or so reckless as to risk that. Not that it isn’t somewhat tempting.

It’d be an easy way to go. His father would laugh about it if he were still alive, then fall into a rage. Destroy whatever furniture was nearby, probably execute some prisoners, some underperforming cadets. Not out of grief. Out of shame. Embarrassment. Pryde would be beside himself with glee. Might even crack a smile. Or, a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Ren would likely not spare him a second thought these days.

It all seems so empty now. So meaningless. Their rivalry. The stupid, desperate need to one-up him, to prove to the Supreme Leader that he was the most loyal, the indispensable one. The one who would lay down his life for the cause. On the dreadnought, Snoke’s body before him, smoke and ash and flame pressing close around him, he’d felt that void cracking open in his chest, thought, _so this is it, then._

But there had been opportunity then until Ren has appeared, grasped him by the throat. Now there’s just the ache of it, the thud of his heart against his ribs.

 _Traitor,_ it hisses. _Traitor, traitor, traitor._

His mouth tastes metallic, acidic. Rae would be ashamed. Would probably even pull the trigger herself or, at the very least, hand him a length of rope and expect him to do the right thing.

Maybe he should just take those pills. Swallow them down one at a time. Chase them with the rest of the wine, with the bottle of strong whiskey he took from his father’s rooms years and years ago when that was the extent of his rebellion.

He doesn’t even make a very good traitor. Didn’t pass on half of what he had intended to, too thrown by Dameron’s voice and how _real_ this had suddenly all felt. Before it was just words on a screen passed on and on and on. Now it’s –

And that’s just how they wanted it, isn’t it? No anonymity for him. Nowhere to hide if this all goes south, if he burns them. They probably knew exactly who he was when he flickered up on screen. Dameron is lying through his teeth with his soft voice and pretty words. Maybe he should call his Slicer back. Ask him to undo this. Ask him to make this all go away and stars, maybe take care of Hux while he’s at it. But a blaster bolt between his eyes. Leave his body on some anonymous moon. But the Slicer would probably just laugh. Touch his cheek. Stammer out something like, _now that’s just a waste of a pretty face, Red._

He lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob, thinks how he’s really just trading one set of chains for another.

-

“If we’re going to do this,” he says, the second time he speaks to his handler, the second time he speaks to Poe Dameron. “We’re doing this properly. We’re doing this my way. We’re doing this securely.”

“Absolutely,” Dameron says. “Whatever you need.”

And he probably fucking means it too.

Hux sends him a list of code words, phrases and signals to memorise, cyphers to use so no one out of the loop will be able to read a damn thing he sends them even if they manage to decrypt the drives. It feels good to do this. To control this small part of his own downfall. To make sure this will run for as long as possible. To make sure he survives up until he doesn’t and even then, that he goes down fighting.

-

“This is never going to work out for either of us if you don’t trust me,” Dameron says, hisses the words out between his teeth.

Hux is on the floor in his quarters. Sat knees to his chest in the space between his bed and the bedside cabinet. He hasn’t hidden like this since he was a child, five years old and terrified. His palms have been picked raw. It’s easy to act like he has everything together outside of this room. To slick back his hair and make sure his uniform is pristine, walk with his head held high and his teeth permanently bared but it’s getting heavier. The void. The secrets. As soon as the door slides shut his legs slide out from under him like oil on water. Chemically incompatible.

General Armitage Hux. Resistance spy.

It had been a bad month for both sides and then Hux fucked up. Almost got found out. It’s fine though. He handled it. He’s no stranger to death, to executions and he’s not sorry. _Refuses_ to be sorry. The Lieutenant was selling secrets of her own, he’s sure and begged for him to spare her life.

“Easy for you to say,” he spits, his voice is uneven and cracking. He hates it. Hates this.

Ren is still gone. In fighting in the Order is claiming more lives than Hux would like, laying waste to planets they’ll need if they are to win this. Farming worlds, mining worlds. He is spinning it on the surface as a scorched earth policy, a campaign designed to force the Resistance out but he has been run ragged with it.

“You’re not destroying everything you’ve ever – ” He breaks off. Closes his eyes. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. He shouldn’t have let that slip. Shouldn’t have let the cracks show. Not that Dameron probably doesn’t already know this. Probably has it typed neatly in a file provided by the Slicer.

Everything he’s given Dameron lately has been small. Inconsequential.

 _The General of the Absolution is aiming to make a power-play,_ he should say. _He’s coming for Pryde. With a well placed and well-timed attack, you could take them both out._

“I get how hard this is for you,” Dameron says. His voice softer now. “I don’t think I’d have the balls to go against the Order like this but I also don’t know enough about you to know how to convince you to keep this up, so.”

Hux’s snort is audible.

“What? Don’t believe me?”

Hux can picture the small smile playing across Dameron’s handsome face. Has taken the time to parse through everything they’ve gathered on the man. He’s seen the pictures. The vids.

“You’re just a scrambled voice on a line to me, bud,” Dameron says. “A helping a hand in the dark, our one shot at winning this war and I wish I could do more to help you, I really do.”

He sounds like he’s speaking honestly or maybe Hux just _wants_ to believe it, wants this to be easier but there’s no way the Slicer hasn’t already burnt him. His identity as the spy is probably worth more to the Resistance than the information he’s passing on and they might be spread thin right now but if they win this? It would be, as the Slicer would say, good business.

Even if he hasn’t, there are things the Resistance will have been able to work out about him. His high status, his speech patterns, his difficulty sleeping. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for them to identify him as a General and from there it’s only a few small short steps to his identity. The weakest of the bunch. A history of tension with the new Supreme Leader.

On the other end of the line, Dameron sighs. Hux finds himself wondering where he is right now. Whether he’s in some sort of operation hub, several communication technicians pressed close, recording Hux’s every word, tracing his location. Whether he has a folder open before him with Hux’s pressure points neatly listed.

_Illegitimate child. Low-born mother. Trust-issues. Anxiety. Paranoia. Requires medication to sleep._

“Maybe we should – ” Dameron starts. “Maybe we should, I dunno, play a game? Get you more comfortable?”

“A _game_?” Hux spits. He wants to laugh. He wants to cry.

How has he ended up here?

“Look, I did some undercover work back in the day. It helped me calm down. Helped me trust my handler.”

“I’m not you,” Hux says sharply.

“Okay, okay. Should have known that was a dumb suggestion,” Dameron says. “But come on, buddy, you must have called for a reason.”

 _The General of the Absolution,_ he thinks but stops. After Crait, the Resistance cannot afford to take risks. Intervening will surely wipe out the rest of their fleet unless they’ve rebuilt their numbers considerably.

“In fighting will take out another General tomorrow. Likely, an entire ship. You should steer clear.”

“There’s no way we can turn that into two?” Dameron asks but Hux is already ending the call.

“Goodbye, Captain.”

In the silence, he puts a hand to his own chest, clutches the fabric tight and closes his eyes. Breathes slowly and deeply until his chest feels less tight, until his hands have stopped shaking.

He jumps when someone buzzes his comms. Rights himself in seconds.

“Hux,” he answers, curtly.

“The Supreme Leader has returned, General, Sir,” Comes the response, words running together. “He requests your presence immediately.” 

“I’ll be there shortly.”

-

“Palpatine lives,” Ren tells his gathered Council. Hux feels the ripple go through the room, the weight of what he’s saying, what he’s telling them to be true. Hux wants to laugh. It’s absurd. It can’t be true. It absolutely can’t be.

From his position before them, Ren looks pointedly at Hux. “Having doubts, General Hux?” Force-tendrils curl around Hux’s throat, not squeezing, not yet, but applying gentle pressure. An ever present threat.

Hux curses himself, has spent so much energy hiding his dalliance with the Resistance that he left other aspects of himself wide open. Across the table, Pryde has sat forwards ever so slightly. Hux wets his lips, chooses his words very carefully. “It is rather a lot to swallow, Supreme Leader.”

Satisfied, Ren withdraws. “Thankfully, your belief is not required, General. Only your obedience.”

Pryde’s eyes meet his. He knows. Hux has never been so certain of anything in his life.

-

Back in his quarters, he calls Dameron. It’s late, he hasn’t sent word ahead. There’s every chance he won’t pick up but he does, he does.

“Violet,” Hux says.

“Castle,” Dameron replies correctly. Yawns. “Stars, don’t you ever sleep?”

“I have something big.”

When Dameron next speaks, all trace of sleep is gone from his voice. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“Palpatine is alive.”

In the silence that follows, Hux hears how ridiculous it sounds. How ridiculous it sounded in Ren’s flat tone, the anger and frustration coiled beneath his words as he told them of the deal he made. Of the bargain he struck to sell out their Order for his own gain. How ridiculous it sounds now, hissed into his comms in the middle of the night cycle.

“Palpatine,” Dameron repeats after a few moments. “As in _Emperor_ Palpatine. The guy who, by all accounts died years ago?”

“I know how it sounds,” Hux says flatly. Silence again so he starts, “I’m not asking you to believe me but – ”

“Oh, I believe you,” Dameron says, almost immediately. “It’d be a pretty dumb thing to lie about and I might not know much about you, but I’m pretty sure you don’t have the imagination to make this up.”

“I’m flattered.”

Dameron huffs out a laugh. “Fuck. Sorry, I’m bad at this. Did I mention I’m bad at this? I probably don’t need to. You already know.”

Hux pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s had a headache for three days straight. It’s showing no signs of abating. “What I was going to say is I’ll get you proof. As soon as I find a secure means of transmitting it.”

“You can’t tell me now?”

Hux twists his mouth unhappily.

“You still don’t trust me,” Dameron says and sounds unhappy about it. “Of course you don’t.”

“It doesn’t matter if I trust you,” Hux counters. “I just need to know what I provide is passed on accurately and securely.”

His heart thuds. _Traitor. Traitor, traitor, traitor._

By doing this he is throwing away the Order’s best chance at victory. But this isn’t the Order he was raised in. The Order he would die for.

Except that it is. According to Ren, to Palpatine, the Order was only ever a front for the Emperors return to power. Championing the Sith cause. Not bringing order. Control. _The Final Order_ , Ren called it. Cold, uncaring. They are meant to die so Palpatine can live.

They are meant to die for this farce.

“How about that game, then?” Dameron says, when the silence stretches too long. “It’ll help. I’m sure. We used to play it at school, maybe you’ve – Well, probably not. It’s called ‘two truths and a lie.’”

Hux closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to play a game, should probably hang up but Dameron’s voice has an odd, soothing quality to it so he listens quietly.

“I’ll say three things about myself, one of them will be a lie. It’s your job to guess which.”

“This is stupid,” Hux says.

“Yeah, no arguments here but we’re doing this, or _I’m_ doing this. Ready? Okay: I’m currently talking to you; I’m a really bad handler and I’m secretly a member of Kylo Ren’s inner circle.”

Hux opens his eyes. Can’t escape the jolt of fear that goes through him, the expectation that any minute now troopers will break down his door and Ren will be coiled about his throat as Pryde laughs.

“Shit, so that was a bad joke,” Dameron says as Hux’s breathing tightens. “I guess we’re again confirming that number two is sadly true. So, so true.”

“Agreed,” Hux says. His chest is still constricted. He rubs at it, tries to soothe it away.

“Well, it’s your turn now, so, come on.” And there’s something in Dameron’s tone that makes Hux realise this is more for his benefit than for Hux’s. That for all his assertions otherwise, Dameron is just as suspicious, lost without something, even the barest hint of truth, of identity, to hold on to. To flesh out a picture in his mind, to understand who Hux is. Why he’s doing this.

Later, he’ll blame it on sleep deprivation.

“I’m part of the First Order,” he says, quietly, carefully. “I would die to defend it’s principles and I’m entirely convinced that what I’m doing right now is right.”

“It _is_ right,” Dameron assures, immediately because he thinks that’s the lie. Hux intended it to be but now he’s not so sure. Maybe two is the lie. Maybe one. Maybe they’re all lies. It’s all he knows how to do these days, after all.

_Traitor._

“I’ll get you your proof soon,” Hux says, tone clipped.

“Alright. Stay safe. Remember: you’re worth way more to us alive. Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

The words echo. Make his skin crawl.

-

It’s easy enough to identify a viable route to transfer the data. In fact, he identifies several. The First Order – the _Final_ Order – is a big ship, after all. It stands to reason there a more than a few leaks. He encrypts a datafile, arranges for it to be sent to some mine overseer who passes supplies to the Resistance.

As an afterthought, a failsafe, he sets a copy to be sent to the Slicer on a dead man’s switch.

 _I do hope you’re not being needlessly reckless, Red;_ the Slicer’s message says.

Hux promptly deletes it. Calls Dameron.

“Snow.”

“Bird.”

“I’m sending you what I can on Palpatine. He’s on Exegol, apparently with a large force. So far the only one who’s met with him is the Supreme Leader so I can’t provide you with anything more detailed yet.”

“That’s perfect,” Dameron says. “Gives us somewhere to start at least.” He’s keeping his voice low, barely above a whisper. Hux panics momentarily, Dameron must be in the field – must be keeping quiet to avoid detection but – but, no. He’s not that stupid, the world on the otherside of the commlink is quiet and Hux isn’t using the emergency line, so.

“Nothing can be traced to you, right?”

“No. It’ll be on a mining colony. Sinta.”

Dameron sucks in a breath that tells him he’s familiar with the place. “How long?”

“A cycle or two.”

He thinks Dameron is probably smiling. “Breathe, buddy. You’re doing good. This’ll help.”

“You’re whispering,” Hux says, more because there’s a buzzing in his head that won’t let him sleep and maybe this will help. Dameron will help.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m on my ship. My friends are sleeping. Don’t worry. I made sure they were all out before we started talking.”

“Oh,” Hux says. Hangs up.

-

“We have a spy in our ranks who just sent a message to the Resistance,” Ren announces, tossing an Ovissian head on the table before them.

Hux feels the bile rising in his throat. The Council was summoned last minute. Hux was off duty, hurried here. _Just **sent** a message, _Ren had said. _Sent._ Not tried to. _Sent._ It went through. It went through. It went through.

_Traitor, traitor, traitor._

Ren doesn’t miss the tangle of emotions, the sick feeling in his gut. “I sense unease about my appearance, General Hux.”

Pryde’s eyes are on him again. Watching. Waiting for a crack in the veneer. Something small for him to dig his claws into. Hux hides the shudder of revulsion with a roll of his shoulders. “About the mask? No, sir. Well done.”

Ren turns away from him. Sneer no doubt firmly in place. But it works. Buys him time.

After the meeting, he tries not to look like he’s in a hurry. Marches sharply away but Pryde calls him back. “Armitage? A word.”

An order, not a request as it always is with his.

Hux slows to a stop and turns but does not walk back towards him. Pryde’s annoyance shows in a small twitch beneath his left eye and the way he exhales as he folds his hands neatly behind his back. Tilts his head at Hux with those cold blue eyes.

As a child, Hux had been terrified of the man.

“Allegiant General,” he greets. The hatred in his tone is palpable. He’s too tired to hide it these days.

“Dreadful business about this spy,” Pryde says, his eyes everywhere. “Must be someone of rank to pass on such information.”

“And they will suffer for it,” Hux says, meeting the Allegiant General’s gaze evenly.

“Indeed.” Pryde makes a show of glancing this way and that. “The Supreme Leader has tasked me with finding the spy.”

It’s a lie. Hux knows it’s a lie because Ren could give a fuck about the state of the Order. He’s convinced he’ll win, with or without the Order behind him. Convinced he’ll turn the girl to the dark side. Convinced they’ll rule side by side or some bantha-shit. But he plays along. Seems the quicker route.

“I’d be grateful for any assistance you could lend in the matter,” Pryde continues.

“Of course, Allegiant General.”

Pryde nods. Looks like he’s about to go but he stops, reaches out suddenly and grasps Hux’s left wrist. Pulls his hand out palm up, forces him to splay his fingers. Instinctively, Hux freezes. Goes rigid. _Don’t flinch,_ his father used to hiss. _Take your punishment like a man._

Too late he realises he forgot to put on gloves. His palm is red, covered in bloody nicks, scabs and scars. Pryde is pushing down on a number with his thumb. Hux feels the scabs crack and break, feels blood well to the surface all over again.

“But what happened, General?” Pryde asks, faux-sympathy loud and mocking.

“An accident, I assure you, it’s nothing. I was tinkering with weapon prototypes.” A weak lie but Pryde would never have believed anything he said anyway.

He releases some of the pressure, gently folds down Hux’s fingers into a fist. “You should be more careful,” he says and if he could smile, Hux is certain he would be.

-

Back in his quarters, he contacts the Resistance. Drop calls Dameron and waits for his response.

It’s a few hours before he gets one. Dameron’s voice is low, tired. “Conjuring,” he says.

“Shadow,” Hux answers.

“We got your message.”

Hux lets out a breath that almost leaves him on the floor.

It wasn’t for nothing. It wasn’t.

“You okay there, buddy?”

He should say _yes._ He should say, _this is it. I’m done. That’s all your getting._ But he can’t. Can’t make the words form in his mouth, can’t push them past his teeth. Can’t get his breathing under control or forget Pryde’s eyes on him, the press of his thumb against his scabs.

“Your guys gave us a hell of a run around after our pick up,” Dameron says. “It was touch and go for a while there.”

“Ren knows,” Hux blurts. Doesn’t mean to. Doesn’t.

Doesn’t – Doesn’t – Doesn’t –

“Fuck.” He sounds completely awake now. “You mean he knows who you are?”

“No,” Hux shakes his head and Dameron breathes a sigh of relief. “But he knows there’s a spy. My contact is dead.”

“Shit. Poor Boolio. But you’re safe, right? Or – Do you need an extraction?”

 _An extraction._ He laughs. Like that’s an option. Like it was ever an option. Dameron’s lies are almost as weak as Hux’s own. He wants to say as much but his chest is too tight. He’s thinking of Pryde. Of Ren. Of how everything he’s ever done has been for nothing.

“Hey,” Dameron’s saying. “Hey, hey, you need to – ”

It’s hard to hear over the roar of his own heart. The pound of _traitor, traitor._

“Alright, two truths and a lie, okay? Listen – you know my name, right? I can’t imagine you haven’t already put together a fun little file on me so: my name is Poe Dameron; I light-skipped my ship into oblivion today and I’m going to do my best you make it out of this alive.”

Hux has read Ren’s reports. “You couldn’t skip a ship like the _Falcon_ ,” he says, as his breathing starts to get under control.

Dameron laughs. “Yeah. That’s what R – er, a friend of mine said too. So, your turn.”

Hux breathes out. It comes easier and easier. “I’m not playing your stupid game, Dameron,” he says. _Stars,_ he’s tired.

“Yeah. You’ve probably got a few fires to be putting out on your end, huh? Metaphorical ones, I mean. Mine were literal. Stay safe, pal.”

-

 _If I need it, would you be able to get me out of here?_ He types over and over to the Slicer.

Never hits send.

-

The day after Ren announces the presence of the spy, the Council is summoned once more.

“Since we will be working closely for the foreseeable future, Emperor Palpatine would like to meet you all.”

The room around them is silent. Pryde shifts in his chair. Hux is becoming increasingly convinced that the Allegiant General knew of Palpatine’s survival all along, was probably sent to the Order for the express purpose of paving the way for his return. Identifying those amenable to this new alliance, getting rid of those less malleable.

“Given yesterday’s incident, I trust all of you will understand that precautions will be taken to ensure that the Emperor’s location remains secure.”

It’s a test. None of those gathered here are stupid enough not to realise. Ren thinks the mole will scurry back to their quarters, some hidden corner of the ship, to make a call before they leave. Arrange a trace, a tail. But Hux doesn’t need to leave the room to send a secure message, doesn’t even need to look away.

Slides a hand into his pocket, types out a code to Dameron that lets him know he’ll be in contact soon, Ren is making an important move, keep your eyes and ears open.

Ren is strolling around the room as he speaks, lays out the details of their arrangement with the Sith. Though, it’s less of an arrangement, more an absorption, the First Order being swallowed whole. Knees to be bent to the Emperor, loyalty to be rewarded. The same speech Hux has heard his entire life only with newer names and no guarantee of reward.

There is no place for him in the world Ren is building. Rather, there is no place for him in the world Ren is allowing to come into being. Ren has stopped behind his chair. Curls his hands around the back of it, clenches tight. “You will meet with him one by one in the audience chamber of the former Supreme Leader. General Hux, he has requested you attend first.”

Hux refuses to flinch. Raises his head and stares into Ren’s ridiculous, ridiculous mask.

“It would be an honour.”

-

There would be no point in escaping, he decides. He was a man built for war. Born to it, honed for it. He lives and breathes blood and blaster-fire and battles, it’s etched into his soul, woven into his bones. Without it, what would he be?

-

He kneels before the broken thing that introduces itself as the Emperor, kept alive through unnatural Force-magic. Kneels before the thing that laughs and purrs his name, tells him how much he looks like his father. How he has inherited all his best traits. The ruthlessness, the intelligence, the propensity for underhanded violence. How his father has done an incredible job in beating his servant mother out of him.

And Sloane. He praises Sloane too. Says that she taught Hux to question, not simply obey. To scheme. To dream bigger than his father ever could.

All the while he feels the familiar buzz at the base of his skull, the tingling, the flutter, that tells him Palpatine is in his head. Sloane may have taught him to dream and think and other things but she also taught him how to defend himself against force-users. How to hideaway the things he wants to keep secret with distractions, tempting bait.

He lets his anger, his jealousy at Ren’s status, Ren’s position simmer on the surface and Palpatine drinks it down.

“You think you should have been Supreme Leader,” The Emperor rumbles. “You wish you had taken the shot when you could. That way the Order would not be failing. You would lead it to glory. You would make a better Supreme Leader than Ben Solo.”

It makes a sound that might have been a laugh once and Hux braces for a force-hit that never comes.

“You’re right,” The Emperor says. “You would make a better leader than Kylo Ren.”

 _But I have no need for a leader, General,_ he hears.

“There will be time, eventually. When all is done.”

And though he does not say it, Hux is sure it has been him all along. If Snoke was not a disguise, he was at the very least a puppet. A mouthpiece. There was never a First Order. Only ever the Empire. Corrupt. Greedy. Made up of men like Hux’s father. Like Pryde.

“Yes, Emperor,” he says, tasting bile on his tongue.

When he leaves, he finds Ren and his Knights lingering outside the chamber. In his mask, Hux cannot guess at Ren’s expression. He half wants to scream at him, to shout. To demand why Ren is not a tangle of confliction, why he is not furious too. He who would shout to whoever would listen how he was following his grandfather’s footsteps, how Snoke spoke for him. He who must know now how hollow it all was. How it was always Palpatine. How neither one of them ever mattered.

How they were always just pawns.

“The girl is on the move. They are on the trail of the Emperor.” Ren says, tilts his head in a manner that suggests he’s not at all surprised at Hux’s continued existence. “You and Pryde will accompany me to Pasaana as back up.”

“Of course, Supreme Leader.”

-

After Pasaana, Dameron calls him.

“Storm,” he says. His voice is quiet again but this time it’s hushed, pained. Not kept quiet out of necessity but by something weighty.

“Descendant.” _Your Wookie is alive,_ he wants to say. _I’ll try to make sure he stays that way._ But he can’t. It would be too much of a giveaway, he tells himself. And besides, they’ll only try and stage a rescue mission. Or convince him to.

“Don’t suppose you know how we can get to Exegol, do you?” Dameron says. “’M asking for a friend, of course.”

“No, sorry.”

Dameron sighs. “Yeah. I thought as much. Anyway, it’s good you’re alive. You had me worried earlier.”

“I met with the Emperor. Not in person, but.”

_I think it was all a lie. Every word my father ever said, everything this Order, **my** Order was built on. _

_It was ruined long before Ren. It never even existed._

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

And he sounds so _sincere._

“Let’s play your game, Dameron. You go first.”

Dameron laughs. “Alright. Give me a minute. I lost a good friend today; I always fall in love with the wrong people and I ran away from home to be a spice-runner.”

Hux frowns. “That middle one seems an odd thing to admit to.”

“Yeah, well,” Dameron sniffs. “It felt pertinent today.”

“Pertinent?”

“Pertinent. So, which is the lie?”

“You said you spent some time undercover. Spice-runner?”

Dameron snorts. “Good memory. You a spy, or something?”

“ _Something_.”

“Your turn.”

Hux thinks. “I’m currently committing treason; I currently have nothing of importance to the Resistance on board and if I’d ever ran away from home my father would have had me executed.”

Dameron is quiet for a very long time.

 _Come on_ , Hux thinks. _Come on, Dameron. It’s not that hard._

When he speaks again, his voice sounds different. Still quiet but almost bubbling with an undercurrent of something happy, something almost awed. “Is it really treason if you’re helping the good guys win?”

“Depends on which side wins.”

“I suppose,” Dameron agrees. Then, “I have to go. Oh, by the way, we’re on Kijimi. Try not to blow us to hell when you pick up our trail, okay?”

-

“Should we blow it out of the sky?” He asks Ren as they stand in orbit above Kijimi.

Because it’s his suggestion, Ren ignores it.

-

 _I should never have told you about the Wookie,_ he thinks, as he leads the prisoners to a quiet corner of the ship. There are three troopers at his back. The corridor seems endless. It feels like a dream.

This is it for him. He’s made his choice.

He’ll help them escape. Pryde will have the proof he needs that Hux is the spy, the traitor.

As they walk, he stares at the back of Dameron’s head. The curls of hair at the nape, the way his shoulders are slumped despite the fact that his eyes are darting everywhere, that he’s still looking for a way to escape, some hint of a miracle. That he still believes they’ll make it out of this somehow, that his dumb luck streak will carry on.

 _Well,_ Hux thinks grimly as he types in the door code. On that, at least, he will begrudgingly deliver.

“On second thought, I would like to carry out the executions _personally_ ,” he says and the trooper doesn’t hesitate before handing over their blaster.

Hux takes a breath.

 _Traitor,_ his heart insists. _Traitor._

Before he squeezes the trigger, Dameron says something very, very softly. “Smoke.”

The troopers are dead before they hit the floor.

“Stardust,” Hux replies. His own voice sounds distant to his own ears. He looks up them. The Wookie’s expression as unintelligible as ever, FN-2187’s eyes wide in disbelief, Dameron’s smile like the sun. “I’m the spy,” he says, though it’s probably moot at this point.

“I _knew_ it!” Dameron cries.

“We don’t have much time,” Hux says and he’s looking down at the blaster in his hands. Wondering about putting it against his temple. Wondering whether it would be easier, neater but Dameron grabs it out of his hands as he passes. Claps him on the shoulder as he does so.

“I’ll take you to your ship.” Hux says.

-

Before this, he sat in his quarters and stared at his commlink.

_If I need an extraction –_

He typed out the same message he’s typed out for days.

_Could you do it?_

He deletes it letter by letter. Word by word.

**_Would_ ** _you do it?_

He types it out again.

_If I needed a way out._

Backspace. Backspace. Backspace.

_If I wanted to live._

-

“I don’t get it, man,” FN-2187 says, as Hux is releasing their ship. He eyes Hux nervously, closely, cataloguing every move he makes. What he says and doesn’t. What his body language betrays. Waiting for Hux to turn around and laugh, say this was all a joke. To march them straight to Kylo Ren or Palpatine or whoever is pulling his strings these days. “Why’re you doing this? What’s in this for you?”

Hux sighs, keeps his eyes fixed on the panel before him. “I don’t care if you win,” he says eventually and realises it’s the truth. The door slides open. Dameron and the Wookie charge forwards, FN-2187 hangs back. Hux looks at him tiredly. “I just need Ren to lose.”

 _Idiot boy._ It’s Rae’s voice. _Your pettiness will be your downfall, Armitage._

FN-2187 shifts from foot-to-foot. “Should we, um, shoot you or something? Won’t they know otherwise?”

Hux spreads his hands. “You can if you want. They’ll know anyway.”

“Which is why he’s coming with us, right, Hux?” Dameron has reappeared, doesn’t wait for Hux’s response just grabs him by the shirtfront and yanks him forwards. “You can pretend you’re our hostage, if it makes you feel better.”

When they’re on board he pushes Hux into one of the chairs and says, “Buckle up, bud. This could get bumpy.”

-

Later –

Later, later, later,

He sits with Dameron on the Resistance base and waits for the world to end. They’re in a bunk room, empty now Dameron tells him because they’ve lost so many. Too many to count. His eyes are damp, there’s a bottle of liquor between his hands. “We don’t have a way to Exegol,” he says. “We can’t win this.”

They’re sitting on the floor, facing one another, leant back against the bunks. Hux thinks about telling Dameron that he never thought they would. That he never intended to be on the winning side. Never intended to live, to survive but that would make the tears in his eyes overspill and the thought brings a lump to Hux’s throat. He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t.

“Your girl could still come through,” he says and Dameron smiles at the bottle between his palms. His smile is fond, warm, ragged at the edges.

“She probably will,” he agrees. Then he scrubs his sleeve across his eyes. “I’ve just never been good at holding onto hope, you know? Feels like I’ve been running on empty a while now. Since Crait. Since before then.”

Hux nods. Stars, he’s tired. “I know the feeling.”

In answer, Dameron offers him the bottle and Hux should say no but he finds himself leaning forwards, their fingers brushing as he accepts. It’s strong, burns as it goes down.

Dameron has stayed leaning forwards, expression difficult to read in the low light. “How about we play a few rounds of our game while we wait, hm? I’ll start. My name is Poe Dameron; today you saved my life and I’m really enjoying _this_ – whatever this is.” He brandishes the bottle.

Hux can’t help the smile it tugs onto his face. “I’ve definitely drunk worse.”

Dameron raises his eyebrows. “I’m sensing a story there but that’s for another night. For now, it’s your turn.”

Hux shakes his head, holds his hands out for the bottle, takes another swig. “My name is Hux,” he starts and Dameron interrupts, “So, no first name? It’s just Hux? Weird.”

“Maybe that was the lie, Dameron.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” He’s still leant forward, dark eyes wide and eager and so damn attentive.

“My name is Hux,” he starts again but then he stops. Can’t think of a damn thing to say to follow up. Except that’s not true. There are a thousand things he wants to say, wants to shout, wants to scream and beg and plead and sob. Things like _everything I was raised to believe in was a lie_ and _I never saw anything beyond that, never wanted to, never **needed** to. _

Things like _I wish you had left me to die._

But he’s watch the way the low light catches in Dameron’s hair, gives it a warm hue so he says; “Today _**you**_ saved **_my_** life and I’ve never been in love.”

Dameron sits back on his heels. Smiles the way Hux realises he’s been picturing for months. Slightly wry but good natured. Not snide. Not underhanded. “That last one seems an odd thing to admit to,” he teases and Hux hates that it makes his heart beat faster. That he’s here, with this man, with hours to go before the Final Order makes their move and his cheeks feel warm, his chest is fluttering.

This stupid. _Stupid._

“It felt owed.”

“Owed,” Dameron echoes, a ripple of laughter in his voice. “And here I thought the First Order would be the type to discourage romance. You know, arranged marriages to keep bloodlines strong, that kind of thing.”

 _The Order never wanted for children,_ Hux thinks to say. _Breeding them would take to long. All the best ones were stolen._

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Dameron.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that.” And he’s leant in closer again without Hux noticing, his breath warm and sweet-smelling from the liquor. Something in his chest is twisting painfully. He thinks –

Dameron’s comm-device goes off, the mechanic-girl’s voice echoes, “Poe! Rey’s alive! She’s on Exegol. She’s transmitting her coordinates!”

-

Years ago when Hux was young and scared, Rae Sloane set her hand on his shoulder and talked him through re-setting the arm his father had shattered for speaking out of turn. Her voice had been equal parts firm and gentle. She did not coddle him. Did not coo and smooth his hair back. She said, “This will make you stronger. Once the fear of pain is removed you’d be surprised how little enemies have to threaten you with."

Years later she had stood in the shadows of his father’s old office and sighed. “You could rule the galaxy if you get beyond this, Armitage.”

And even now he has glimpses, dreams. The world where he unholstered his blaster quicker, put a bolt in the back of Ren’s head before he rose. The world where he declared himself Supreme Leader. Where he led the Order to victory, stomped out the Resistance, brought the galaxy to heel and maintained control. Where he delivered Rae’s vision, saw it through, saw it thrive.

A world where Palpatine stayed dead and gone. Where Snoke was the end of the Sith. The dark side of the Force snuffed out because if he wasn’t –

Palpatine would have snapped his neck first chance he had. Would have taken one look at Hux’s sneering face and known he was done dancing for puppet masters.

-

“I’m coming with you,” he says, standing beside Dameron’s X-Wing out on the runway. He has a list of reasons at the ready, he knows things about the fleet they don’t; can point out blind spots, weak links; he knows what their plan is, knows how to ensure it works. He has to see this through. Has to see this, his life’s work, his birth-right, the very molecules and atoms of his being, snuffed out. Destroyed. He has to. He has to.

But Dameron doesn’t ask for them. Just nods, waves for someone to bring them another helmet and says, “I hope you don’t get motion sick.”

-

Years ago, when Hux was young and foolish, the Slicer looked at him and purred, “Red, the only way this is ending for you is quick and bloody.” But Hux doesn’t think he meant _this_.

Fragments of the Order’s fleet, the last surviving Sith drifting through the air on a barren planet. The sky full of modified mining ships, transport vessels. His ears full of cheering, of Dameron’s breathless joy, of Dameron’s breathless relief. His mouth full of coppery blood where he bit through his bottom lip.

No, the Slicer meant _you’ll die on your knees at the hands of your usurper, a knife slotted neatly between your ribs, pulled across your throat, choking as your insides melt and burn because of the poison slipped into your caff._

At the time he’d wondered if it was more a promise than a prediction. Now he thinks maybe it can still hold true.

“You’re a genius,” Dameron jabbers as they warp back to base. “A _genius._ Couldn’t have done it without you. And Lando. And Rey, and Finn but _you –_ we would

“As soon as they realise you’re targeting the navigation tower, they’ll switch the signal to the Command Ship.” _Pryde’s_ ship. “Star Destroyers are tricky to take down but their engineering is not without it’s flaws,” he’d said and Dameron had listened. Dameron had trusted him.

Their loses were minimal.

-

 _A small friend of mine tells me you have defected;_ the Slicer’s message says. _I’m hurt you didn’t trust me to be your saviour, Red. What led you to doubt me?_

 _Prior experience?_ Hux responds and he looks up to find the Scavenger girl watching him. Her eyes are still wild, her jaw clenched tightly. He gathers she was the one who dealt the final blow to the Emperor, he gathers Kylo Ren played no small part. He doesn’t know for sure, of course, has made himself scarce while the base celebrates because he may have helped them win the war but he’s still a criminal. It’s only a matter of time before they weigh his good against his bad and find him wanting.

“He’s dead, you know,” she says, her hands are clenching and unclenching at her sides. Not like she’s itching to hit him, like she’s reaching for something, trying to grasp something that’s no longer there. “Ben Solo. Kylo Ren. He saw the light too, in the end.”

She’s telling him because she thinks he’ll sympathise, he realises. Thinks he’ll offer her something more than the confusion she probably gets from the rest of the Resistance. Really, he wants to laugh. High and mad. The left and right hands of Supreme Leader Snoke; the heir apparents to the Empire, to the Order; it’s most faithful sons; traitors, both of them.

The girl blinks hard but it doesn’t chase away the tears she won’t let fall. “I knew he would. I thought I could have got through to him sooner, though.”

Hux doesn’t know what she’s expecting him to say, what she wants but he’s tired of lying so he says, “Well if you had, you would have saved all of us a lot of trouble.”

Her anger is tightly controlled. More annoyance than rage, than hurt. “Finn says you only helped us so Ren would lose. That’s not the whole truth, is it?”

“Why? Do you think I’m better than that? More principled?”

She shakes her head. “I think you were tired. I think you couldn’t tell anymore if you were fighting for something you really wanted or just because you didn’t know how to stop.”

She scrubs a hand across her nose, drops his gaze briefly and he thinks of what he knows about her. How she grew up alone on Jakku, running through the dunes and picking through the wreckage of an age-old war for petty cash. How she grew up alone. Taught herself to fight.

“I’m tired of fighting,” she says and Hux nods.

“Likewise.”

-

“Hey,” Dameron says, when he finds him later. He’s smiling, warm. Like the fucking sun, he’s so bright. He waves a bottle of whiskey; sits down in the same position he had been before they got called away. “We never got to finish our game.”

 _I hope you’re not falling for that dashing Resistance Commander, Red,_ the Slicer had said. _Such a cliché._

Hux pockets his comms device, raises an eyebrow. “I’m not much for whiskey, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, this is for me. I got this for you,” From his vest he pulls a small bottle, hands it over. “You look like a wine drinker. Is that a weird thing to say? It sounds strangely loaded.”

Hux nods his thanks, cracks open the lid. It’s not the best wine he’s ever had but here, post-Armageddon, post-everything, it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“You were telling me about that time you were in love,” Dameron says and oh, he’s sidled closer again, practically in Hux’s lap.

“Not likely.”

He smirks. “Well, figured I’d give it a shot. It’s my turn though, right? So, you saved my ass _again_ ; you saved my friends and you lost me _several_ bets.”

“More the fool you if you had money on me,” Hux says and Dameron laughs.

“That was the lie, idiot. I’m _rolling_ in credits because I thought it was you all along.”

Hux squints at him. “You’re lying.”

“Nope,” Dameron says, beaming. “I dunno, Hugs. I just always had a feeling about you is all. Anyway, your turn.”

“You’re an idiot,” Hux tells him. “You’re infuriating and I really wish I hadn’t helped you.”

“Liar,” Dameron grins.

“It’s the truth,” Hux growls. “You are _so_ much more trouble than you’re worth.”

Dameron laughs and it feels good, it feels right. “Now _that_ is probably true. I hear it often enough anyways.” He’s looking at Hux again, draws his dark gaze across Hux’s face slowly, languidly. “My turn,” he says and his voice is like velvet, makes Hux shudder.

 _Don’t go falling for every man who looks at you like you’re something precious, Red,_ he hears the Slicer say from wherever he is, whenever he is and no, Hux thinks. This isn’t that. This is just about human fucking contact. About not thinking, about not caring, about, about, about –

And he won’t let it be more.

Dameron is close to him now. Very, very close.

“My name is Poe Dameron; my eyes are brown and I _don’t_ really want to kiss you right now.”

“You don’t want to kiss me,” Hux says eventually, his mouth very dry. “That’s the lie.”

Dameron’s nod is almost imperceptible. “Your turn, Hux.”

Hux closes his eyes. Shuts out the roar of the fleet – _his_ fleet – crashing and burning, the groan of metal, the crackle of flame, the muted cries of shock, of pain. Shuts out the withered Emperor, Pryde’s cold gaze, his father’s laughter, Rae’s disappointment, Phasma falling, dying, the Slicer laughing at him, with him, at him. Shuts out the thud of his heart, the chant of _traitor, traitor, traitor._

“I’d let you; I’d let you; I’d – ”

But his last words are swallowed up by Dameron taking his face between his hands, pressing their mouths together and kissing him with long, slow desperation.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, breaking the kiss. He keeps his hand on Hux’s jaw, their foreheads pressed together, his eyes squeezed shut. “I just – I couldn’t not – ”

“Dameron shut the hell up and stop thinking about it,” Hux says, kissing him again.


End file.
